The Heart of a Coward
by orinette
Summary: Zoria returns to the Snoring Dragon for some rest & relaxation, and falls head over heels for wealthy customer Mortimer. Gwizdo hates him but isn't quite sure why. A dragon needs slaying, cash needs earning, and feelings need sorting-out. What's a coward in denial to do?
1. Crouching Daughter, Snoring Dragon

_AN: *__hangs head in shame* I'm sorry, I know I have other long-overdue things to work on, but the bug of inspiration really nipped me good with this one… Chapter 2 is already in the works, but after that's up I'll likely put this puppy on hold so I can finish at least one of my other projects. Enjoy in the meantime, and please R&R!_

_1: Crouching Daughter, Snoring Dragon_

"And it's off to the morning and back again,

Same old day, same situation,

My happiness rears back as if to say:

'I wanna stay home today'."

_- Film Dialogue_

The last thing Gwizdo thought he'd see when he opened his eyes that morning was a disheveled Zoria climbing through his window. A large part of him just wanted to shrug and accept it—ever since that incident with the Chubby-Cheeked Propellertail and the mutated cabbage, he'd learned to accept the occurrence of such "last things" as one of life's many unfortunate quirks.

Nevertheless, he still screamed.

"Zoria!" he yelped, falling out of bed in a mad rush to get up. The resulting thud shook the floor, and the young redhead cast her old friend an annoyed glance.

"Keep it down! I don't want my mom to know I'm here," she whispered.

"Couldn't ya just use the back door or somethin', y'know, like a _normal_ person?" he snapped, hoisting himself off the floor. "I didn't even know you could open that window."

Zoria shrugged. "The corner panes used to be hinged before my mom glued them shut. Nothing a knife and a little spit from a Solventus dragon can't fix," she smirked, holding up a small vial of clear liquid in one hand and a pocket dagger in the other.

"Very clever," Gwizdo mumbled, crawling back into bed. "Now, Zoria, sweetie, if it isn't too much to ask, could you go be clever somewhere else? _Some_ of us are tryingto_ sleep._"

"Of course. See you later, Gwizdo."

Gwizdo grunted and turned his back to the girl. He heard the creak of the floorboards and the soft sound of the door shutting behind her as she left the room, and let out a contented sigh. It'd take nothing short of a rampaging Ramador to get him to admit it, but ever since she'd started hunting on her own, he was always relieved when Zoria returned alive and well to the Snoring Dragon Inn. Aside from the perk of being able to see her again, it meant that he could be sure she was safe, even if it was only for a few days. He hated not knowing. Almost as much as he hated the fact that he was worried about the safety of the competition… but who was he fooling? He could never see Zoria as just the competition. No matter what happened, part of him would always think of her as Zoe.

… Not that he thought about her too much when she wasn't around, of course.

000

"GVIZDO!"

Jeanneline's voice cut right through Gwizdo's sleepy daze, waking him up as thoroughly as if she'd splashed him with cold water.

"Huh?" he squeaked as he tumbled out of bed for the second time that morning. Lian-Chu and Hector followed, the latter mumbling irritably in his incoherent gibberish and the former calmly climbing down the bunk-bed ladder.

"GVIZDO, YOU LAZY-BONES, YOU GET YER KIESTER DOWN HERE IMMEDIATELY!"

"Gee, she sure sounds pleasant today…" Gwizdo muttered as he began to get changed.

"Gabu, mean lady skw Hectow, wake up, dkhsjl not nice!" the little blue dragon stomped his foot, teeth bared.

"Tell me, Furball, when has Jeanneline _ever_ been nice to us?" Gwizdo adjusted his pilot cap on his head and shuffled towards the door, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. "I swear… if the eats weren't so good I'd've moved out o' here a lo-o-ong time ago."

He made his way to the main room of the Snoring Dragon Inn, Lian-Chu and Hector following close behind. Jeanneline stood waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, hands on her hips and a wooden ladle that had gotten to know the seat of Gwizdo's pants quite intimately over the years clenched in one fist.

"It's about time you three rolled out of bed," the busty woman barked. "Now there's some dishes that need doing and some potatoes that need peeling before noon," she leaned her face close to Gwizdo's menacingly, "unless you can pay the six months' rent you owe me now. Hmm?"

"Jeanneline," Gwizdo chuckled nervously, raising his hands between them, "please show us a little sympathy. We're the ones who've been deprived of work—we can't be blamed for slow business. Besides, our pitiful lack of clients just goes to show what a good job we've been doin'! After all, the better hunters we are, the less dragons there are to kill, am I right?"

Jeanneline gave a skeptical frown, but she did straighten back up, much to Gwizdo's relief. "Don't try to pull that old excuse on me," she sniffed. "Just you two finish yer chores, and then go out and _look_ fer clients, fer once."

"Yessiree, ma'am," Gwizdo gave her a two-fingered salute and stalked off to the kitchens with his companions.

_I wonder where Zoria's hidin',_ he mused as he pulled on his apron and pulled a stool over to the sink so he could wash the dishes. _Jeanneline would'a said somethin' if she'd shown up._

"Gwizdo, it really has been a while since we've worked," Lian-Chu said, sitting in the corner with a paring knife while Hector passed him potatoes. "Don't you think we should—?"

"Lian-Chu, don't worry your pretty little muscled head about it," Gwizdo said reassuringly. "I was flippin' through the ads yesterday, and there must'a been dozens of dragon huntin' jobs in there. Course they were all a million miles away and paid peanuts, but hey, that just means the off-season's over, buddy! Contracts'll be fallin' into our laps by sundown."

"I hope you're right, Gwizdo," Lian-Chu sighed.

"Of course I'm right—ouch!" He pulled his left hand out of the soapy water and grimaced at the small cut that had appeared on his index finger. "Darn chipped plates..." He sucked on the injured finger a moment, then removed it from his mouth and sighed. "In the meantime, let's hope Jeanneline remembers that she likes us. I'm sick of doin' chores!"

"Hard work done without a sword means a hunter's never bored."

"Yeah, yeah, spare me the proverbs, would ya Lian-Chu? They really are _not_ makin' this any easier…"

"Agubwee! Agubwee ol guwl! Gwido, Chu, comsee!"

"Hector, would you keep it down!" Gwizdo turned his head to berate the little creature, "I'm tryin' to—"

He gaped; his mouth curled into a wicked, gap-toothed smile. For there was Zoria, curled up in the storage cupboard behind the potato sacs that Hector had just moved, snoring away.

"Well, I'll be—Zoria's back," Lian-Chu smiled as he whispered. "Let's not wake her."

"Nuts to that, she scared the bejeesus outta me this mornin'," Gwizdo muttered, jumping off his stool and striding purposefully towards the cupboard.

"You saw her this morning?"

"Oh, yeah, did I forget to mention that?" Gwizdo chuckled. "She broke into our room and woke me up."

"Why didn't you tell me? Or Jeanneline, for that matter?" Lian-Chu's voice was laced with mild disapproval.

Gwizdo just shrugged. "She said she didn't want her mom to know she was here," he explained, kneeling next to Zoria's prone body. "And considerin' that she wound up sleepin' with the tubers instead of staying upstairs with us, I'm guessin' she meant you and Hector, too."

Still smiling mischievously, he bent over so his face was inches from Zoria's and shouted—"PIG-OUT SWARM!"

With a gasp, Zoria's fist shot up and collided with Gwizdo's nose so hard it knocked him flat on his back. Within a second she was on her feet and in battle-stance, her sword clutched in her hands. She looked around wildly for a moment before sighing and sheathing her blade.

"Really, you guys?" she said. "You're worse than a couple of kids."

When she caught sight of Gwizdo on the floor, covering his face with both hands and moaning, she chuckled and helped the little man to his feet.

"Sorry about that, Gwizdo," she said, and she sounded like she meant it. "But you should know better than to scare a hunter when she's sleeping."

"Yeah, you'd dink so, would'd ya…" he muttered, still holding his nose and glaring at her. "Baybe you should _look_ before ya deck a guy out like dat."

Zoria ignored him. She turned to his companion and grinned. "Long time no see, Lian-Chu."

"Zoria," he said warmly, pulling the young woman into a bear hug.

The door to the kitchen burst open and Jeanneline stormed in. "Vat is going on in h—" she began, stopping short when she saw her daughter. "ZORIA!"

Swept out of one big-armed hug into another, Zoria squeaked a hello to her mother between Jeanneline's delighted coos at having her baby girl back home.

"Oh, Zoria, vhy didn't you tell me you were coming? I vould've cleaned up, I vould've prepared a big meal fer you, I vould've—"

"Mom—mom! It's okay; really, I don't want you to make a fuss. I just—"

"And vhy come home now?" Jeanneline held her daughter at arms' length and looked her over. "Are you hurt? Are you out of money? Did something happen out there?"

"Nothing happened," Zoria assured her. "I'm perfectly fine. In fact, I'm better than fine—I scored a few big contracts recently, and I thought it would be nice to take some time off."

"Waid a biduid…" Gwizdo sniffed, cracked his nose back into place with a soft yelp and rounded on Zoria. "How in the heck did you get contracts this time o' year? Me 'n' Lian-Chu ain't seen hide or hair of a good ad in months!"

Zoria shrugged. "I guess you haven't been looking in the right places. I found plenty of work around Bleak Island."

"Well, yeah, it's called _bleak_ for a reason, isn't it?" Gwizdo muttered.

Jeanneline raised an eyebrow at him. "So, Gvizdo, it looks like my Zoria's been paying her bills fine—vhat's yer excuse, hmm?"

"Jeanneline, d'you have any idea how far Bleak Island is from here? Even if we _did_ see an ad—which we _didn't, _thank you very much—by the time we got all the way out there the problem would'a been dealt with!"

"Be that as it may, the fact remains that you still owe me rent, and those dishes don't look even close to being done. Get yer butt in gear, or it's the poorhouse for the lot of you!"

She steered Zoria out of the kitchen and left the men to continue their work. Grumbling, Gwizdo got back onto the stool and shoved his hands into the water.

"Figures—Zoria comes back for the first time in _months_ and she's rollin' in dough. And it's not like we're slouches or nothin', we've been tryin' to find work, haven't we, guys?"

Lian-Chu remained silent, knowing better than to encourage another one of Gwizdo's rants. Hector, however, didn't have the same foresight.

"Yahh, we twy, twy hawd!" he growled, jumping up and down eagerly as he continued to ferry potatoes between Lian-Chu and the cupboard. "No faiw, Zowia get all da work, gabu!"

"Ex_actly,_ Hector, it's _not_ _fair,"_ Gwizdo agreed. He scrubbed the plate in his hand with all the force he could muster, channeling all his frustration into sponge and soap. "It's never flippin' fair…"

000

"So, Zoria, sveetheart, tell me—have you given any thought to vhat I said in my last letter?"

Zoria sighed and propped her chin on her hands where she sat at one of the Snoring Dragon's best tables. Jeanneline was wiping the table and eyeing her with a familiar gleam in her eye—the dreaded grandchild gleam. Zoria had known this was coming. She'd decided, of course, that coming home to see her family was well worth the inevitable lecture, but she was _not_ looking forward to this.

"Mom," she said slowly, "like I told you before, I'll settle down if and when I'm ready. I'm not ready to give up hunting yet, or to get married—and I'm _certainly_ not ready to have kids."

"Oh, Zoria, it's not just that. You know I hate it vhen ye're gone so long—if you qvit this hunting business I vouldn't have to vorry so much."

"But you don't _have_ to worry! I'm good at what I do, Mom—you don't fuss this much over Lian-Chu and Gwizdo, do you?"

"Lian-Chu and Gvizdo aren't my daughters," Jeanneline said sternly. "And don't change the subject, young lady."

Zoria frowned. Technically, she wasn't Jeanneline's daughter either, but even after having spent most of her childhood under the thumb of an uncaring uncle, the innkeeper felt like her mother. And being told to give up her dreams by her mother was far from uplifting.

"Mom," she said, "if I told you that you had to sell the inn and keep house while some man went out and earned a living instead of you, would you do it?"

"Hmph! As if vhat I do isn't just keeping house fer a few dozen customers. Being a housevife vould be a cakevalk compared to being an innkeeper."

"But wouldn't you feel bored? Stifled? Purposeless?"

"No, no, and no. Being a vife and mother is very satisfying, Zoria. Vell, being married didn't turn out too vell for me, of course, but being a mother did. Don't you think I vas nervous vhen I first adopted you, or vhen I had yer sister? You and Zaza are the best things that ever happened to me, and I just vant you to have a chance at that happiness. So you can say vhatever you vant, I'm not going to change my mind. I von't stop you from hunting, but I'm not going to pretend to like it."

Zoria nodded. That had been relatively painless… for now. She knew that Jeanneline wasn't going to let the matter drop so easily. The innkeeper had been giving Zoria variations on that same speech about marriage and children for seven years, ever since she was fifteen and bagged her first dragon as part of her training with Lian-Chu. That'd been about when she changed her name from Zoe to Zoria. It'd taken a while for the new moniker to stick (especially with Gwizdo and Jeanneline, both of whom had constantly slipped up and called her Zoe right up until she left home at eighteen), but it'd been worth it. Nobody would take a dragon hunter called Zoe seriously. Zoe was for girly girls. Zoe was for sweet young brides. Zoe wasn't _credible._ She had enough trouble getting contracts as a woman—getting contracts as a Zoe would be downright impossible.

"We-ell, Jeanneline," Gwizdo said loudly as he, Lian-Chu and Hector strode out of the kitchen, "the potatoes are peeled, the dishes are done, and we are off the hook for chores for the day, so you can just leave us alone until lunchtime, sound good?"

"Yeah, ye're off the hook fer now, Gvizdo," Jeanneline said dangerously, "but if I come in here and find that ye're slacking off and not looking fer vork like I told you, it's back in the kitchen, got it?"

"Sure, yeah, whatever…" Gwizdo waved her off and sat down across the table from Zoria. Lian-Chu took the corner by the fireplace and took out his needles and latest knitting project. Hector curled up in front of the hearth as Gwizdo set up an inkwell and a ream of blank parchment on the table.

"So you're looking for clients by just sitting there?" Zoria asked innocently. Gwizdo glared at her.

"Well," he snapped, "if we're gonna be lookin' for new clients, we gotta have a contract ready… somethin' _really_ iron-clad, so's we actually get paid this time…but I guess the Mighty Miss Zoria doesn't have that problem, does she?"

"Don't you think I ever get bad clients? I get stiffed all the time," Zoria retorted, bristling.

"Oh, yeah? So how come you always come home stinkin' rich and we gotta wash dishes to keep your dear ol' mummy from kicking us out on our butts?"

"I advertise. And I actually go out _looking_ for work instead of just bumming around here waiting for jobs to fall into my lap. No offense, Lian-Chu."

"None taken."

"For your information, Zoria," Gwizdo was standing up now, leaning forward with both hands planted on the table, "the only reason we're here allatime is because we're stuck doin' Jeanneline's dirty work to pay off our tab!"

"No," Zoria mirrored his position, "it's because _you_ can't go two minutes without a bed and someone to cook your meals for you!"

"I can too!"

"Prove it!"

"Make me!"

"GVIZDO! ZORIA! QVIET DOWN, YE'RE MAKING A SCENE!"

Both of them wilted at the sound of Jeanneline's screaming. They glanced around—indeed, the other patrons were staring at them, some with anger, some with fear, most with blank confusion. Jeanneline glared at them from where she stood on the other side of the room. Staring daggers at each other, Gwizdo and Zoria slumped back into their seats with crossed arms and pink faces.

"… For the record, I totally would've made you," Zoria muttered.

"Like heck you would've."

Gwizdo took up his quill and began scratching out a contract, still visibly fuming. Zoria watched him intently—to the casual observer, she might've appeared to be studying the stitching on his cap. To those who knew her, it was painfully clear that she was imagining the various approaches she might take to crushing his head between her hands.

Oh, she hated him; she hated that little twerp so much it hurt. It was hard to believe she'd once had something of a precocious crush on him—back when she was eleven, when he and Lian-Chu had taken her with them to the End of the World and the only men she'd had experience with were grandfatherly knights and sycophantic nobles. Sure, Lian-Chu had been the hero, but Gwizdo was the one who had talked to her. She'd been enraptured by his stories (exaggerated though they were), she'd admired his bond with Lian-Chu, and she'd been deeply touched by his genuine concern and affection for her.

No one had ever cared for her like that—no one had been scared at the thought that she might die, or stood up for her against her Uncle Arnold. In fact, since then she'd never known Gwizdo to chew out a client like he had Arnold, especially at the expense of such a fat paycheck (not that the stingy Lord would've paid up anyways). And after all that, he'd told her he loved her—the first time someone had said that to her since her parents had died when she was five. She felt it from Lian-Chu, but the giant had never said it to her. Jeanneline likewise doled out her "I love yous" sparingly, so that they really meant something when they were given. Gwizdo had said it once, and never again, and yet it was his that had stuck in her heart.

Her crush on him lasted a few years—when she was fourteen and began training, he started to grow colder towards her, treating her less like a friend and more like Lian-Chu's groupie again. When she killed her first dragon, he'd started treating her like the competition, and that had really stung. By the time she was sixteen, the crush had worn away completely. Well, mostly. She didn't have feelings for him anymore, but they still lingered somewhat, in little innocuous ways. She still thought his smile was cute, when it bothered to be genuine. His hair was downright adorable, when it bothered to be visible. His eyes were quite attractive, when they bothered not to flash with avarice and sleaze. And sometimes he showed glimpses of the sweet man she'd seen in him as a naïve little girl, and she remembered why she'd crushed on him in the first place.

But, hopping horsefeathers, she _hated_ him when he tried to berate her like that.

As if she didn't work hard for her money. As if it was so easy for her, and Gwizdo and Lian-Chu had it oh-so-rough. As if she wouldn't love to be able to work from home and spend time with Zaza and Jeanneline and come home to a hot meal and a warm bed every night. She'd fought so hard to eke out a living in the four years since she'd left home, and all Gwizdo could do was play the martyr because he had to do the dishes every now and again.

Gwizdo, meanwhile, was concentrating hard on the slope of his handwriting, because if he didn't he'd wind up concentrating on how badly he wished it was socially acceptable to hit girls. How dare she! After Lian-Chu had taught her everything she knew about fighting and he had taught her everything he knew about making deals, she had the gall to come home and accuse them of bumming around. Of course, he hadn't tried to teach her about making deals—she'd picked that up herself by hanging around him. He never would've taught her; if it'd been up to him, she would've stayed Zoe, stayed home, and stayed out of their way. And out of harm's way, though he'd never admit to giving a hoot about her safety nowadays.

It'd been tough, watching little Zoe grow up to become Zoria. Watching as her blonde hair bronzed carrot-red and her scrawny limbs grew longer, as her pigtails shrank and her chest grew. The physical changes he was on board with—it was everything else that got under his skin. When she'd started training with Lian-Chu, Gwizdo had felt like he was about to lose her for good—and so he began to distance himself from her, to keep her at arms' length to protect himself from caring whether she was gutted by a Ramador or not. She wasn't just an eager girl anymore, and her talk of knighthood and heroism wasn't just a tomboy's daydream. It was very real, and she, like them, was about to throw herself into very real danger.

Gwizdo had always wanted to be a dragon hunter. Well, he'd always been fascinated by dragons, at any rate—but the first time he'd tagged along on a hunt he'd realized just how not-for-him the hands-on part of the profession was. He enjoyed writing contracts and spinning tales, but the danger and the day-to-day living he could definitely do without. There was nothing rewarding about being chased down by an angry dragon or putting in hours—sometimes days—of grueling, life-threatening work only to have next month's rent torn from your hands by unsatisfied clients. And then being further punished for it later by an unsympathetic landlady.

But Lian-Chu loved their work, and Gwizdo couldn't leave Lian-Chu if he tried. If it were up to him, they'd all be lounging on their peaceful little farm at the End of the World, and Zoria would still be Zoe, and she'd spend her holidays frolicking with the flying bunnies and helping them feed Lian-Chu's sheep. The cost of feeding and supporting three humans and a dragon had destroyed that idyllic dream—and Zoria had destroyed the Zoe he'd known and loved.

Sometimes it was hard to look at her without catching a glimpse of the kind, courageous young lady he'd met eleven years ago and feeling his bitter heart thaw with familiar affection.

And sometimes—boy, oh boy, _sometimes_—he wanted to rip those gosh-darn perky pigtails right off her head.

As if he and Lian-Chu didn't try their darndest to pay their bills. As if they liked having to give the bulk of their cash to Jeanneline, if and when they ever got paid. As if they had it oh-so-easy, and little-miss-roughs-it was so much better than them. They'd had to fight tooth-and-nail for every penny they'd ever had since they'd left the Orphan Farm, and all Zoria could do was act superior because she didn't always have a roof over her head.

_Lordy, lordy,_ both of them thought, _what a jerk. _

000

A few hours later, Zoria sat on the grass in front of the inn as Zaza played with her Dragon-Hunter dolls. Having cooled off from her argument with Gwizdo, the redhead couldn't have felt more peaceful. The sky was blue, the clouds were fluffy, the grass was soft, and her kid sister was adorable.

"Let's go, Zoria," Zaza said as she shook her Lian-Chu doll, deepening her voice to mimic him.

"I'm ready when you are," she pitched her voice higher as she placed her Zoria doll next to its companion. "I think the client said the dragon's nest was that way."

"Uh, g-g-guys?" her tone became nasal and whiny as she produced her Gwizdo doll. "I think I should maybe stay here. I gotta protect the money!"

Zoria smiled and let her mind go blank, taking in the full sensory experience of lying there without a real thought in her head. Boy, was that a nice change of pace. Usually she had to be thinking of about thirty things at once—the features of her environment, the best sword technique to use, the weaknesses and strengths of the dragon at hand, the degree of damage that her next move would make, et cetera. But now she was safe, there was nothing to think about. For once, she could just _be…_

"Zoria, sveetheart, I have a proposition fer you."

She rolled over with a slight groan to see Jeanneline standing over her, blocking her sun and looking triumphant. Great. This could only mean good things.

"Yes, mom?" she tried to sound cheery without the sarcasm in her voice becoming too obvious—yet another useful trick she'd learned from watching Gwizdo.

"I've been thinking about our talk this morning," Jeanneline went on, "and I've decided ve should compromise."

That didn't sound good. "Compromise?"

"Yes. I vill stop asking you about settling down—provided that vhile you are here, you make an effort to meet a nice man."

Oh, yeah. Not good. "A nice man?"

"Vhat are you, a parrot? Yes, that's vhat I said."

"A nice man—at the inn?" Zoria sat up. "At _this_ inn?"

Jeanneline frowned. "Fer yer information, young lady, my customers aren't alvays rogues. Ve're one of the best inns around, and ve get a lot of nice, vell-off travellers passing through. Look, Zoria, I'm not asking you to marry the first guy you see, I just vant you to take a look, all right?"

Zoria sighed. "All right. I promise."

"You'll talk to some of the men? Get to know them, see if you like them?"

"Yes."

"I'll be vatching you," Jeanneline warned. "You can't lie about this."

"I know, mom, I won't."

The innkeeper beamed. "Vell, the suppertime rush vill be starting in a few hours, so be ready. Thank you for giving this a chance, sveetheart."

She returned to the inn, and Zoria rolled over so she was facing Zaza again. The younger girl was eyeing her with a conspiratorial grin.

"How are you gonna get around this one?" Zaza asked.

"I'm not. I'm going to give it a shot."

Zaza dropped her dolls, looking horrified. "What? You're really gonna give up hunting? You're gonna settle down and get married and have babies and everything?"

Zoria laughed. "Are you kidding? Of course I'm not. Not yet, anyways. But I want to make mom happy, so I _am_ going to try and meet someone. Who knows," she stood up and gave her sister's hair an affectionate ruffle, "you might even like him."


	2. Eat Slay Love

_AN: Sorry this took so long – but I want to keep the chapters around the same length, and it takes a while for me to write 9-10 pages __ Like I said in the first chapter, this story is going on temporary hold until I update my Recess fic (because I made a commitment to that one first), but I will continue to work on it! I love this show/movie too much to stop now. _

_2: Eat Slay Love_

"Well, boys will be boys,

And girls will be trouble,

And I'm a man with bad habits—

I see you walking down the town

With another man,

And, girl, I had to have it."

_- Thin Lizzy_

_I hate them,_ Zoria thought bitterly. _I hate them all. _

The suppertime rush had indeed arrived, and though Zoria had made a considerable effort to talk to some of the nicer-looking men, all she had discovered was what she had already known—men are jerks.

Or at least the men who were at the Snoring Dragon that evening were jerks. Muscle-headed, pheromone-oozing, sexist, belittling, unpleasant, foul smelling _jerks._ Even the ones who had seemed nice at first had wound up patronizing her for being a female hunter—saying her sword was nothing but a large butter-knife and asking her how many bunnies she'd managed to bag.

Perhaps tonight was just a bad night. Perhaps she just needed to talk to more of them until she found one who wasn't a complete loser. But she was tired and hungry and a hair's breadth away from snapping and lopping off the head of the next guy who dared to mock her. So she retired to the table by the fire, where Zaza sat eating her dinner with Gwizdo, Lian-Chu and Hector. She sat next to her sister and rubbed her temples with a drawn-out groan.

"Do you… want some bulgor stew?" Zaza asked her tentatively. "Mom made it special for you."

"Thanks, Zaza, but I'm not hungry yet. I'll have some once my stomach settles."

"Are you sick?"

"Ha," Zoria said dryly, "I guess you could say that…"

"Don't be discouraged, Zoria," Lian-Chu said soothingly. He had been watching his ex-pupil's attempts all evening, more out of concern for Zoria's wellbeing than anything. "This is just a bad bunch, that's all."

"That's what you get for tryin' to schmooze a roomful o' rogues," Gwizdo said between mouthfuls of stew. "They aren't exactly the marryin' type."

"Neither am I," Zoria muttered. "I don't know _why_ I thought I could do this."

"Zo-o-ria-a-a," Jeanneline said in a singsong voice as she passed by their table, "I saw you out there—good job, sveetheart! Keep it up!"

"…I guess that's why," Zaza said once her mother was out of earshot. Zoria groaned again.

"I can't take it," she said exasperatedly, burying her face in her hands.

Gwizdo eyed her over his bowl. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her looking so helpless. After his anger over their earlier spat (which, like most of their arguments, had been wordlessly forgiven and swept under the rug) he'd been perfectly prepared to enjoy her distresses that evening. But something about the sight of her looking so defeated—not to mention the fact that, if overheard snippets were anything to go by, she'd been talking to some real pigs—melted him a little. _Enter Mister Gwizdo, chairman of the flippin' Bleedin' Hearts Club._

"Hey, hey," he said gently, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at the other customers, "just forget about them. Trust me, these guys aren't anythin' to hang yourself over."

She looked up at him. He winked at her and stuffed his spoon back into his mouth. Zoria smiled gratefully, and Gwizdo's rusty hinge of a heart gave a satisfying creak. That was Zoe smiling at him.

The soft whoosh-and-thud of the door flying open shattered their brief moment of peace. Every patron of the inn turned as one to look at the two men who had just entered into the room. One was thin and greying, perhaps in his late fifties, and had a simpering expression that reminded Zoria of her Uncle Arnold's advisor, Lord Gildas. The second was a young, muscular, and handsome man, sporting a head of golden hair that looked as if it had begun the day well-combed but had since fallen into disorder. Both of them were dressed practically for travelling, but their clothes were unmistakably of very fine, very expensive make.

"Ahem," the grey man cleared his throat and gestured to his golden-haired companion. "Announcing the esteemed Lord Mortimer Ecklestone II, son of Lord Quincy Ecklestone III of the famed Stutter Island Estate!"

The blonde man, Lord Mortimer, gave the room a polite nod and a bright smile.

"I," the grey man went on with a flourish, "am his confidant, Lord Plink of the House of Mugglor, and…"

A third man barged through the door and stood behind the newcomers. He was an armed giant about Lian-Chu's size, looking strangely composed for his barbaric build and wearing the neutral but vaguely irate expression of a bodyguard.

Lord Plink waved dismissively at the giant. "And this is Karl."

Karl grunted hello.

None of the patrons reacted. Jeanneline, it appeared, had gone off to the kitchens to watch the stew and hadn't heard the announcement of her esteemed new guests. But Gwizdo had heard. Oh, Gwizdo had heard just fine.

"Boy, oh boy, oh boy!" he whispered excitedly to his tablemates. "Stutter Island Estate is crawlin' with gold, it's practic'ly _buried_ in it!"

"Fat lot of good that'll do either of us if they don't have a dragon they want dead," Zoria muttered.

Gwizdo stood up and let his eyes flutter shut dramatically. "My _dear_ Zoria," he said, his voice dripping with oil, "surely you know me better 'n that?" He grinned. "I can squeeze cash outta these rich stiffs faster than Lian-Chu can catch a Smacklin'."

With that, he sauntered over to the three newcomers and greeted them with a deep and exaggerated bow.

"My dear Lords, I'd just like to thank you on behalf o' the owner for what I'm sure will be your very, er, _generous_ patronage—she's not available right now, but I'll be happy to take care o' anythin' you need in the meantime. So whaddya want, hmm? A table, dinner, a couple o' rooms? Just name it. Tips are accepted and encouraged. And, ah," he winked conspiratorially at Lord Plink, "if you happen to wanna hire some specialists, say for a dragon-related problem, _I_ just happen to know the perfect men for the job, so be sure to let me know."

Lord Mortimer grinned broadly at Gwizdo and shook his hand heartily. "I'm very pleased to meet you," he said, "and let me just say, if this is the sort of service this, er, Snoring Dragon place provides, then we appear to have been led here by Lady Luck herself. My companions and I are weary from a long day's travel and require lodgings for the night. Oh, and our horses—Karl took the liberty of leading them to the stables just now—they will need to be fed and watered. Could you, perhaps…?"

"Say no more, m'lord," Gwizdo raised a hand. "Just, ah, gimmie a second, and I'll—"

"Gvizdo, vhat are you doing, bothering my customers?" Jeanneline shoved the little man out of the way with a nudge of her hip. He slunk back to the table, muttering obscenities, as the innkeeper turned a radiant smile onto the Lords and their bodyguard. "I'm sorry, I vas in the kitchen. Vhat can I do fer you, sirs?"

"Um," Mortimer's brow furrowed, "that man we were talking to, he was not one of your staff?"

"Ach, no," Jeanneline scoffed, glaring over her shoulder at Gwizdo, "he and his big friend over there are dragon hunters, they rent a room here. Or, at least, they _stay_ in a room here. But no matter, vhat can I interest _you_ in? Rooms? Supper?"

"Both would be—" Mortimer began, but Lord Plink cut him off.

"My dear innkeeper," he simpered, "I suppose you did not hear us before. This is _Lord_ Mortimer Ecklestone II of Stutter Island, and I am _Lord_ Plink of the House of Mugglor. As befits our status, we require your _best_ available accommodations. Money is no object, of course—provided that we receive acceptable service."

"Oh," Jeanneline gasped, and gave a clumsy curtsey, "of course, my lords. Let me take yer things, and you get settled at that table by the fireplace to rest yerselves. Dears," she smiled at Gwizdo, Lian-Chu, Hector, and her daughters, "could you please sit elsevhere and let the Lords have the good table?"

Before they had a chance to react, Lord Mortimer waved a hand and strode towards the table. "Nonsense, I won't have anyone's suppers disrupted on my account. There's plenty of room here, we can all sit."

He sat himself down next to Zoria and gave another polite nod to the table's company. "Good health to you all," he said.

"My Lord," Plink whined, "this is quite inappropriate—"

Mortimer ignored him and, leaning across the table, took a sniff of Gwizdo's stew. "Mmm… that smells delightful. I'll have a large bowl of that for my supper, please."

"Right avay, sir," Jeanneline bowed her head. "And fer you two?" she asked Plink and Karl, who were still standing.

Plink, who looked as if he were on the verge of a nervous breakdown, stammered for a moment before finally agreeing to have the same as Mortimer. Karl grunted his ascent. As Jeanneline whisked off to get their meals, the young Lord gestured for his companions to sit, which they did, Plink fidgeting all the way. They flanked Gwizdo on both sides, and the grumpy little man, now that he knew he wasn't going to get any cash from the Lords, made no further attempt to mask his irritation.

"And who are you fine folk?" Mortimer asked the group. His gaze swept the table, lingering an extra moment or two on Zoria, who responded by clearing her throat in a decidedly boyish manner.

"I'm Zoria the Dragon Hunter," she said with a small smile. "The innkeeper is my mother. And this is my sister, Zaza," she ruffled the girl's hair. Zaza grinned at Mortimer.

"Pleased to meetchya!" the child said, before turning her attentions onto Karl. "Oooh, is that a flail? I always wanted to use a flail, but Lian-Chu says they don't do much damage unless you're really, really strong like him—I guess you're pretty strong, huh?"

Karl smiled and grunted.

Mortimer laughed. "You know, that's the first time I've seen you smile in ages, Karl!" he turned to Zoria as Zaza and the giant continued their conversation. "Your sister's a plucky little thing, isn't she? What a delightful girl!"

Zoria nodded. "She's the greatest."

"Yeah," Gwizdo mumbled, "if you like annoyin' little chatterboxes that never give ya a moment's peace 'n' quiet, sure, she's a peach."

Zoria flashed him a quick glare. He stuck his tongue out at her.

Mortimer frowned, then flashed Gwizdo a wide smile. "So, sir, it appears you weren't actually in a position to get us our rooms, after all. Not the subtlest of attempts to get your hands on a gold piece or two, but certainly resourceful."

"Uh, I'm sure I don't know what you're talkin' about," Gwizdo stammered, "I was just tryin' to be friendly, that's all."

Mortimer smirked. "Not to worry, my good man. Happens all the time. And I don't blame you—you're in the dragon hunting business yourself, I hear? The innkeeper gave you away, I'm afraid. I hear it's been tough for many hunters to find work lately, and from the state of your clothes…" he gave Gwizdo's filthy attire a once-over, "I'd wager you're doing no better."

Gwizdo glowered at him.

"So," Mortimer went on, "I gather that you, sir, are Miss Zoria's agent?"

"Absolutely not!" Zoria cried.

"Heh, you should be so lucky, sweetheart," Gwizdo grinned. "No, my good sir, I am no man's agent. I," he stood up, in full pitch-mode now, "am one half of a lethal whole, the brains of the terrible twosome, the deadly duo, the unstoppable dragon-slayin' team… Gwizdo and Lian-Chu!"

Right on cue, Lian-Chu lay his supper down and struck an impressive pose as Gwizdo waved his arms in the warrior's direction. Karl and Zaza looked up from their one-sided conversation to give the pair a respectful second of attention before turning away. Lord Plink seemed less than amused, but Mortimer was grinning at the two with unabashed admiration. Zoria chuckled affectionately, resting her cheek on her hand—she loved watching her old friends get into their spiel.

"Gwizdo and Lian-Chu… I've heard of you!" Mortimer cried. "You're the hunters who freed the village of Reldingsfield, near Truckledingle Forest—we were just passing through there a few weeks ago, and they told us all about how you slayed that Puffbellied Plugdrifter for them last year."

"That's right," Gwizdo crowed, "and we do it all for a, _ahem,_ very reasonable fee. So all you guys out there sufferin' under dragon-fire," here he turned to address the room at large, many of the inhabitants of which were watching them, "remember this! Gwizdo and Lian-Chu will slay any beast, no matter how terrifyin', no matter how huge! Just bring your cash and we'll take care o' the rest! Why, just a few months ago we were trekking through the jagged peaks of the Graniterra Isles…"

"Hoo, boy," Zoria whispered to Mortimer with a chuckle, "now you've _really_ got him going."

Mortimer laughed, and turned to meet her eye. She'd moved closer to him to whisper, and their heads were leaning dangerously close. Zoria straightened up with a small cough. He smiled at her—a soft, sweet smile. His eyes searched her face, travelled up along her pigtails and down her lithe body. Zoria dropped her gaze to the tabletop—_Bouncing baby-blues,_ she thought in a panic. _I'm _blushing_! _

Gwizdo, taking no notice of the fact that his wealthiest audience member was good and distracted, led Lian-Chu to a more central location to continue their not-so-subtle sales pitch and story-time session. Mortimer leaned a little closer to Zoria—just an inch, but boy, oh boy, what an inch.

"So, Miss Zoria…" he began.

"Just Zoria is fine."

"As you wish. Zoria, I'm somewhat embarrassed to have heard so much about your friends but so little about you. Tell me about your work."

She shrugged. "I'm not surprised you haven't heard of me. I'm what you might call a roaming hunter—I pull most of my contracts well past the Oridell Archipelago. Around these parts," she smiled bitterly, "you might know me as the Mustachioed Lady."

Mortimer gawked at her in a decidedly ungentlemanly manner. "That giant hunter who turned out to be a woman in disguise? That was _you?_ I heard you were fantastic!"

Her smile turned playful. "I still am."

"Perhaps we could spar sometime—I'm something of a swordsman myself. Best on Stutter Island, if I may be so bold." He gave her a look that could only be described as dangerously flirtatious. "If you can go toe-to-toe with a dragon, surely you could put up a good fight against me."

Zoria was temporarily stunned. He wasn't mocking her, she could tell. He _actually_ wanted to spar with her. He'd never seen her fight, and already he was convinced she was good at what she did. She knew the simple fact that he wasn't belittling her shouldn't be enough to get her heart thumping, but—gosh darn it—there it went, hammering away._ And I guess it doesn't hurt that he's really darn cute. _

"I'd be honored," she said finally.

"M'lady, if you're half as good as the rumours say, the honour will be all mine."

Zoria grinned.

"We-ell," Gwizdo said happily as he and Lian-Chu returned to the table, "I think it's safe to say we've impressed the rabble today, eh, ol' buddy?"

"They did seem to like your story," Lian-Chu agreed.

"Like my story—who're you kiddin', they _loved _it! We had 'em eatin' outta the palms of our hands! Boy, oh boy, I tell ya, any one o' those rogues comes across a dragon, they'll come runnin' straight to us. _Hoo boy,_ that felt _great," _Gwizdo cracked his knuckles and shoved a heaping spoonful of bulgor stew into his mouth. "Mwe ha'n't done tha' in months!"

Lord Plink turned up his nose. "I so admire the ease with which the common folk can be entertained," he said dryly.

Gwizdo swallowed. "An' what's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"It _means,"_ Plink sneered, "that if all it takes to impress these people is a few pretty words from a half-literate charlatan—"

"_Half-literate?"_ Zoria and Gwizdo cried in unison.

"You couldn't be farther off!" Zoria snapped.

"Whaddya mean, _half-literate?" _Gwizdo said, his words once more overlapping with Zoria's. "Buddy, I'll have you know I could out-literate _your_ sorry butt any day o' the week!"

"Gwizdo is a great reader, and a great speaker," Lian-Chu added, his gentle voice tinged with anger.

"Is he?" the skinny Lord sniffed. "That's hardly a remarkable feat considering where we are. Why, a toddler who could barely spell his own name would be a great reader compared to the likes of these ruffians."

Gwizdo stood up and opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted.

"Lord Plink!" Mortimer barked. "Hold your tongue! We are guests at this inn and I will _not_ have you being rude to our companions. Mister Gwizdo, Mister Lian-Chu, I am truly sorry—please excuse Lord Plink, he is," Mortimer shot his companion a pointed glare, "unaccustomed to being polite to anyone who isn't of noble stock."

"We-he-hell," Gwizdo said darkly, "I'm sorry we ain't good company, _Lord_ Plink. C'mon, Lian-Chu—Hector. Let's go."

He stalked off towards the staircase, and after a moment's pause, his friends followed.

"Goodnight everyone," Lian-Chu waved as he turned away.

There was a chorus of goodnights from everyone who wasn't Plink or the still-mute Karl. When her old friends had left, Zoria made to get to her feet as well.

"I think I'll head off to bed," she said, her voice clipped.

"Me _too,"_ Zaza huffed, giving a fuming Plink the stink-eye and waving goodbye to Karl as she jumped to the floor and stalked away. Karl waved back.

"Zoria," Mortimer put a hand out to stop her, his fingers hovering just above her arm. "I hope you're still open to that sparring match," he smiled apologetically. "Trust me, nothing like this will happen again."

Zoria smiled back. "I believe you. And thank you for putting a stop to it."

"It was my pleasure. Tomorrow, then?"

"Tomorrow. Goodnight, Lord Mortimer."

"Please, just Mortimer."

She felt her cheeks growing warm again. Why did he have to look at her like that? "Goodnight, Mortimer."

000

"So-o?"

Zoria, who had stopped by the kitchen to grab a quick bite of stew, eyed her grinning mother suspiciously. "So what?"

"_So,_ how did our little compromise vork out?" Jeanneline put aside what she was doing and stared expectantly at her daughter. "Did you meet anyvone you liked?"

Zoria turned pink. _Again! I haven't blushed this much since Gwizdo told me he liked my shorter pigtails. _"Maybe."

Jeanneline gave the sort of joyous shriek one might expect from a giddy child. "Is he cute? Did you make any plans to see him later? Who is he?"

"Mom, calm down!" Zoria laughed. "You're more excited about this than I am. And to answer your questions… yes, very—yes, tomorrow—and I'm not going to tell you."

"Vhy not?"

"Because you'll find out soon enough." _And if I tell you you'll just go out there and hum wedding tunes whenever you pass by his table._ "I'll be sparring with him tomorrow."

"Sparring?" Jeanneline frowned. "Zoria, fer gosh's sake, vasn't the whole point of this to—"

"Ah-ah-ah," Zoria held up a hand, "don't forget your end of the bargain, Mom. _I _meet a nice guy, and _you_ stop trying to get me to settle down."

Jeanneline huffed. "All _right,_ but I don't have to like it." She turned back to her dishes. "Sparring… hah! Whoever heard of sparring on a first date?"

First date? Zoria tossed the words around in her head as she made her way upstairs. She just wanted to fight with the guy. Did that really constitute a date?

She passed by Gwizdo, Lian-Chu, and Hector's room, and the giant poked his head out the door.

"Zoria," he whispered, "are you off to bed?"

She nodded.

"Well, I'm sorry tonight didn't work out for you. With Jeanneline's compromise, I mean."

She chuckled. "Actually, I think it turned out pretty well."

Lian-Chu looked confused. "But I thought everyone you talked to was awful."

"Well," she smiled, "not _everyone_…"

"Oh," realization dawned on Lian-Chu's face. "Do you mean Lord Mortimer? You liked him?"

"Yes, I think I did. I'm sparring with him tomorrow."

"Oh, Zoria," Lian-Chu smiled warmly, "I'm happy for you."

"Thanks, Lian-Chu," she said, yawning. "Goodnight. See you in the morning."

"Goodnight."

Lian-Chu closed the door to his, Gwizdo, and Hector's room and began to change into his pajamas. Gwizdo, already dressed for bed, took off his pilot's cap and shook out his mussed hair.

"Lordy, lordy," he grumbled, sitting down on his bunk, "I hope those two noble stiffs scram soon. If I hafta put up with that Plink guy for more'n' two minutes I'll go crazy."

"I hope they stay," Lian-Chu said. "Zoria and Lord Mortimer have really hit it off."

"Huh?" Gwizdo frowned. "Whaddya mean?"

"Zoria likes him. They have a sparring date tomorrow."

"Oh, really? Like a _date,_ date? Is she nuts?"

Lian-Chu climbed up into his bunk. "Why? Lord Mortimer seems nice."

"_Nice?"_ Gwizdo sprang to his feet. "The guy's a snob! A real world-class jerk. Didn't ya hear what he said about my clothes?"

"They _are_ pretty dirty."

"I like 'em that way," Gwizdo snapped. "Besides, he… he's nothin' but a two-bit pretty boy. Dumb as a post. Boy, oh boy—I'm tellin' ya, buddy, Zoria must really be off her nut to go for a guy like that."

"He was very kind to us, and he stuck up for us in front of Lord Plink," Lian-Chu pointed out. "He can't be all bad."

"Yeah, whatever, Lian-Chu…" Gwizdo grumbled as he got back into bed. "You'll see—he's a total loser. Trust me, by the end of their little _date,_ Zoria'll be beggin' us to get rid of him."

000

Zoria made her way to her own room—still kept neat as a pin by her mother—and collapsed on her bed. That had been very long and _very_ exhausting day.

_First date._ The words came back as she curled up in a ball and began drifting off to sleep. She smiled softly. _Tomorrow I'm going on my first date._


End file.
